Firelight: The 76th Hunger Games, Now Legal
by Blame-It-On-The-Alcohol
Summary: Paylor mysteriously disappearred, and Majestian Snow has managed to wrestle control from the rebels. Now the Hunger Games are back, and he is determined to avenge his ruined family by making this Game the most vicious ever...even the Victor will wish they weren't. Dark themes and violence, because hell, it's the Hunger Games.
1. Prologue: Control and Tribute List

**Hiya my amazing readers! :D**

**So, this got deleted. So this story is now a SMOT (submit my own tributes) and I have changed the tributes' names, so they are now technically mine. However I have tried to keep a recognisable similarity between your submitted characters and my new ones, and I have only changed the couple of tributes that were submitted illegally (i.e. via review)**

**Here is the tribute list, and then a short prologue so this still counts as a story chapter :)**

**TRIBUTE LIST**

**District One:**

**Stormie Turner, 17  
****Stellan Pogue, 15**

**District Two:**

**Kail Farrow, 18  
****Vincent Topia, 17**

**District Three:**

**Gumi Kendra, 17  
****Noah Gray, 14**

**District Four:**

**Reka Joy Ceranic, 18  
****Riley Day, 16**

**District Five:**

**Lucas Easel, 16  
****Hannah Juda, 16**

**District Six:**

**Mela Servitore, 16  
****Spade Tetrance, 13**

**District Seven:**

**Ella Lane, 17  
****Alexei Brier, 15**

**District Eight:**

**Vitani Valentino, 15  
****Dustin Everett, 16**

**District Nine:**

**Moon Kellant, 18  
****Grant Merran, 12**

**District Ten:**

**Edie Lancaster, 18  
****Miveri Lynch, 17**

**District Eleven:**

**Tone Dahlia, 18  
****Zephyr Kane, 13**

**District Thirteen:**

**Drake Raxter, 18  
****Kanade Bel, 13**

**Let the Games begin...**

**Kara xxx**

* * *

**Prologue: Control**

The crowd is silent. They're never silent. This is bad, and everyone knows it.

An undercurrent of fear tethers them all into place, and even the smallest can feel the tension in the grip of their parents' hands. Capitolians cloaked in colourful masks and dyes; Districtans covered by anything from thin, frayed cloth to elaborate dresses and jackets; everyone is strangely brought together by the threads of trepidation fastening around their throats.

_He _walks out onto the stage, and every camera seems to hold its breath as he stares through the skyline, towards all his subjects. Majestian Snow. The new ruler of Panem.

Everything had exploded a few weeks prior. Beloved President Paylor, disappearing as if by a particularly vindictive sort of magic, right from in between her trusted guards (or at least, the reports _said _they were trusted-you can't believe anything they say anymore, can you?). A surge of prospective replacements suddenly fading into dust, be it by bribes or accidents or disappearances; and one left behind. Majestian Snow, the grandson of the late Coriolanus Snow.

He's young, but his eyes are so sharp they could cut diamond and he speaks smoothly, silently manipulating with every crystal-clear syllable. He's attractive. He's dynamic.

And he's deadly to the core.

You see, Majestian didn't go to all this..._trouble _just for power. He wants revenge. Revenge sweeter than the roses in his grandfather's lapel, and more bitter than the bleach his mother sent screaming through her intestines before they found her, still and cold, hugging a necklace they later had to sell.

The revolution ruined them.

But the name Snow will soon strike fear in the hearts of everyone, all over again. District Thirteen will be forced to degrade and humiliate themselves as thoroughly as every other district in his new, shining kingdom with the darkness running through its floors. These Games will be the start of a new age; where a glance of his snow-white hair will send any rebel running scared.

Most of all, he wants them never to be able to forget. And these Games have been planned to be remembered for the watchers' every living day.

He steps elegantly forward. Leans over the microphone. Directs his eyes, so deep a grey it seems like they're penetrating into your soul, at every watcher within Panem's walls.

Four words. All that's needed.

"_Let the Games begin."_

* * *

**I have a feeling this is going to be fun.**

**Kara x**


	2. Nothing Left to Lose

**Hi my amazing readers! I'm so sorry for the wait-computers dying, homework, schoolwork...I haven't slept properly in about six months. But you deserve your chapter, so here it is. And give a hand to EverAbernathyFan for her first Fanfiction writing!**

**~Stormie "Storm" Turner~**

My eyes jolt open at the faint sound of yelling from behind my door. I groan inwardly as I see the sky outside is barely light, still streaked with pink and gold. _Who is knocking on my door this early in the morning?_ It's obvious I can't get back to sleep with the incessant banging and muffled screaming pounding through my skull. Then the knocking on my door grows even louder and I snap my eyes open. "What?" I yell at whoever is behind that door, silently imagining their silhouette punctured with a suspiciously sledgehammer-shaped object. I mean, banging on my door? Really? Do they have a death wish?

"You're going to be late, Stormie!" I hear my Mother say sternly, and my anger withers away a little.

Mother. She's a nice woman, everyone says. It's true, but her brightness has worn away over years of pain and stress, and now her eyes don't sparkle anymore. She's a very serious woman now; it's almost like she's forgotten what laughing feels like.

I instantly hop up from my bed, suddenly wide awake. I scramble across the wooden floor over to my burgandy dresser. I pull out a random shirt and throw it on, not caring whether it's stained or ripped. I slip some skinny blue jeans on and carelessly run a brush through my chin-length, black hair. I glance a distorted reflection in the cracked mirror; forest-green blouse, scowling face, perceptive eyes. I don't smile. I step into a pair of ballet flats and run out of my room. Soon I am out in the street, running towards the cobblestone Town Square.

Soon I'm in the seventeen-year-olds' section and I half don't remember how I got here. Running is the only buzz I get that I don't have to pay for. I'm quite fast, but my endurance has been built up through years. I could probably run and run to the outskirts of the city without stopping once. Then maybe keep going.

I tried that once, then I realised running away's for cowards.

But I have hardly enough time to think anymmore before I hear the female tribute's name being called. "Lilith S-" I hear the escort start in her curious Capitol accent, with the over-pronounced vowels and clipped consonants that make me want to scream inside my head. I walk up towards the stage calmly and raise my hand up high. "I volunteer!" I say with a slight smirk growing on my pale face. I see the girl step back glumly and I bound towards the stage at that point. When I get there I see people murmuring. Well, of course they are. I'm Stormie Turner. The sadist. The psychopath. The one that shouldn't still exist.

(Conversations don't really tend to get past the whole 'likes inflicting pain' thing. Somehow, after that, telling people you're great at making cupcakes and that you might be letting your hair grow out this year just seems insignificant. I wouldn't do too well in speed dates.)

"And who are you?" I hear the high-pitched voice ask me. I smile serenely and say, "Storm Turner, age 17, this year's Victor." Not that I need to; everyone in the District knows my name. I finger my token, it is in my pocket. A piece of rubble from our old flower shop. It was destroyed a while back. A 'tragic accident'. They blamed my father for stealing, when it had been me. It was my fault, and it kills me, but I've meticulously planned how I'm going to get revenge. I don't expect to make everything right again, but I can still go some way to killing the guilt that keeps me awake when everyone else is sleeping.

You see, when I win, I can inflict pain on the peacekeepers. They were the ones who changed my life for the worst, and they will pay. Of course, it wasn't their fault; I understand that, but that won't save them.

I have my plan. Win the Games by any means necessary. Then, the _real _fun can start. I'd tell you my plan, but surprises are a lot more fun. Just know that I will stop at nothing to escape that arena.

And that was a promise.


End file.
